Page 11 of Don't Make Promises
Swinging the door open with a tad too much force, I step into the lobby of the hotel. It’s about as well looked after inside as it is outside. The muffled sound of my footsteps on the shag carpet—seriously?—have the guy sitting behind the desk looking up from whatever video he’s watching.
He swallows audibly as I approach the front desk. “Can I help you?”
My voice is gruff and commanding, leaving no room for doubt, I throw a hundred dollar bill on the counter as I reply, “Room 571 is checking out.”
Neil, according to his name tag, types into the computer in front of him, a frown pulling at his brow when he realizes I’m very much not the five foot something woman who checked in. “I think you might have the wrong room, sir.”
Apparently Neil didn’t get the memo. A muscle in my jaw twitches as I grind my back molars, because there is nothing I dislike more than having to explain myself. “She’schecking out.”
He must see something in my face because he doesn’t question me any further, he just taps away on his keyboard. When he’s done, he hands me the invoice. Snatching it up, I stalk toward the elevator, ignoring Neil when he calls, “She’ll need to give back the key.”
I impatiently wait for the elevator to arrive and when it does I step inside and jab angrily at the button.
When the doors open on her floor, I head straight for her room. The walls are a combination of dirty cream and black marks. Screams can be heard coming from one of the rooms but I can't tell if it’s on this floor or another. My body is on full alert. I can’t believe she’s put herself in this position. Holding onto the anger, I let it feed my movements, pushing down the concern that bubbles beneath.
As I reach her door, they subside, giving me a reprieve.
Standing there, my body relaxes. It’s only now that I realize how tense my shoulders were and how rigid my jaw was. Raising my hand, I knock. The bang echoes around the corridor as I wait for her to answer.
There’s silence on the other side and so I knock again, listening intently for the sound of movement. Anything to tell me she’s inside.
That’s when I hear it.
A faint knock on the other side.
Leaning in, I call through the door, “I know you’re in there, angel.”
Almost immediately, I curse myself for using the name I gave her so long ago. I don’t get to call her that anymore. I don’t want to call her that anymore. That nickname comes with a whole history that needs to be left in the past.
It feels like an eternity before the door opens and she’s standing there in front of me looking like a goddamn fucking real life angel. There’s a halo of light behind her and for a moment it’s just us in the here and now. An overwhelming urge to pull her close and ask her to stick around this time overtakes me.
It’s like the girl I knew five years ago is no more. She’s bloomed into a beautiful woman that’s sure of herself and doesn’t hide behind the veil of her hair.
Hair that I know is soft to the touch.
Her fair skin is clear and blemish free making the four beauty marks around her mouth, chin and on her cheeks stand out. With a slightly upturned nose and full lips, she looks alluring.
It’s when my focus is bouncing around her face that I catch, in my peripheral vision, the distinguished markings of a bruise forming on her arm. My gaze darts to the mark. Its dark, ugly imperfection glares at me from her otherwise perfect skin, my jaw grinds as my nostrils flare. That tenseness that left me moments ago, returns with full force.
Swallowing thickly, I point to her arm and ask, “Who hurt you?”
Her wide gaze drops to the marks on her arm as if she didn’t realize they were there. Covering the bruise from my sight, as if that will wipe it from my memory, she lifts her chin, defiance clear when she says, “It’s nothing. What are you doing here? Did Jack send you to check on me?”
Ignoring her questions, I tug at the cuff of my shirt. Anything to distract myself from the rage that’s burning through my blood. I don’t believe myself entirely when I say it’s because she’s like a sister to me. “It’s not nothing, ang—Savannah.” I correct myself before continuing, “Tell me who did it?”
I can see the cogs turning in her pretty little mind before she responds. “To be honest, it’s none of your business, but if you must know. My Daddy Dom got a little too rough during our latest session. Don’t worry though, he more than made up for it with the aftercare.” She folds her arms over her chest as she watches me for any reaction.
Spluttering, I reply, “Wha… How do… You know what? It doesn't matter.”
Savannah cocks a brow, tilting her head to the side. “You sure? It might be your thing. Maybe a madame would suit you better.”
I jut my chin as I run a finger under my collar.Why’s it so hot in here?
Looking over the top of her head and into the room, I ignore her question, refusing to engage. I’m not getting sucked into whatever game she wants to start playing.
Fuck, I forgot just how tiny she is.
Berating myself for even thinking about the past, I look around the room. It looks like a throwback to the seventies. A faded orange blanket lays on the bed and stained brown shag carpet covers the floor. I’m not entirely sure what color the carpet originally was, especially with the lighter patches around the room.